


First Kiss

by Exposedma



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3619728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exposedma/pseuds/Exposedma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When did he start noticing Scout Harding, Varric can't quite put his finger on it.  He starts thinking maybe he should ask her to join him for a drink, he starts wondering what it would be like to kiss those freckled lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself ship it. I loved this prompt!

The first time Varric notices Harding he admits to himself that she’s cute, a face full of character, and he tucks it away for a future character he might write into a book one day. Her smile is honest and her freckles are bright against tanned skin, and he wonders if that braided red hair is straight or curly, purely out of professional curiosity. He discovers she’s as ignorant as he is when it comes to all things Dwarven, and he finds it refreshing. She is everything Bianca isn’t, and he’s just as drawn, it’s unnerving. She snorts when her giggles get the best of her, and Varric makes sure to reserve his funniest tales for when she’s sharing the campfire or when she’s at Skyhold between scouting missions. 

When she speaks to him there aren’t any double meanings. She talks with her hands and her entire face animates in a way he hasn’t seen since Merrill. She’s more than just cute, she’s adorable, in fact she’s really fucking pretty. There’s a guilt in his gut that he ignores, because he shouldn’t feel guilty, he doesn’t belong to anyone, and promises he made to a girl who couldn’t reciprocate shouldn’t count. 

He discovers her name is Lace, and he doesn’t laugh, and the relief is painted plainly on her face. She scowls when he calls her Freckles instead. “Aren’t you supposed to be an author, can’t you come up with something more creative then Freckles?” He can, but Beautiful isn’t really his style. 

When Varric asks Harding to join him for a drink her eyes go wide as saucers, and she doesn’t answer right away. He keeps the easy grin on his face, refusing to acknowledge the lurch in his stomach that she might reject him. He crosses his arms over his chest, feeling like it might hide the sudden attack of self-doubt he is suddenly worried she’ll see.

“Um, yes! Sure, I’ll meet you in an hour.” She starts running away, but turns quickly, “or did you mean now?” She stumbles over her words smiling, gloved fingers pulling at each other, and Varric feels flutters he never thought he would feel again.

“In an hour sounds fine, Freckles, see you then.” She nods and runs waving over her shoulder and he’s grinning like an idiot. Hawke would have a field day with him, he’s sure. 

She’s wearing a simple cotton dress, with a leather corset, there are freckles on her collar bone and shoulders, and her hair is loose ringlets that frame her face. He wonders briefly where else she has freckles and swallows the image down. He stands there saying nothing, he should say something. He should have brought her flowers, she probably would have liked that.

“Wow.” He finally manages, and he thinks this is how Curly must feel when he’s trying to talk to women. 

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and goes shy on him, “You think?” Varric nods offering his arm like a proper gentleman. He can almost hear Hawke cackle from half a world away. 

She smells like clean linen and spring flowers, and she’s smiling at him, touching his hand, drinking ale out of a tankard, laughing at his jokes, and he can’t keep his eyes off her mouth; there are freckles on her lips. They linger well past last call, and her cheeks are flushed with alcohol. He offers his hand and reluctantly suggests they call it a night. When she stands she’s close, and she puts a shy hand on the collar of his tunic. 

“Did you know you have freckles on your lips?” He asks leaning towards her. 

“I do own a mirror.” She answers, smirking at him, pulling him closer until he’s kissing her. 

There’s alcohol on her breath, and she hums quietly in satisfaction when he circles her waist with his arms. For the first time in too many years Bianca is just a crossbow, and freckles is synonymous with perfection.


End file.
